The Milk Train
by poma14
Summary: John Bates takes the early morning train for a new start in life.


_**A/N: This was written in celebration of my friend Brette's birthday—it's short but sweet! Happy Birthday!**_

**The Milk Train**

Steam billowed from the tank engine camouflaging the pink hues of sunrise. John watched as whiteness dissipated in curlicues outside his window. It was ethereal, almost ghostlike.

Telephone poles poked out of lush green fields as the train rumbled down the track. His eyes followed the even, graceful swoops of the wires. Instant communication across a nation. A new world, indeed.

Amid the circling steam, John caught his reflection. He looked old. He was old. There were lines around his eyes and face that hadn't been there until recently. In the last two years, he had aged ten. Never had he felt more frustrated, angry, helpless and sad in his entire life. But he knew he had to put it behind him, move forward. And it started with this train ride.

He stretched his legs as best he could for third class. His knee throbbed with abandon. It had for days. Damp spring days always did him in. He had hardly slept at all last night. He had spent most of it in a chair beside the bed attempting to read Voltaire by lamplight.

But if he was honest, it wasn't the long ago injury that kept him up. His body quaked with nerves. So much depended on this new venture. Failure was not an option. He wasn't sure what he would do if it did fail. John took a deep breath; fortified himself and blocked the pain. This was going to work and that was that.

It was new start. Everyone deserved one. After what had happened, a new setting made sense. But it was more than just locale; this was a new chapter, blank and waiting to be written. As much as John was anxious, a new sense of freedom pumped through his veins.

The train began to slow. The thumping of the wheels became almost sluggish as it pulled into the station. A shrill whistle left no passengers sleeping.

"This is it," John breathed surveying the scantily crowded platform.

A small, warm gloved hand crept into his and squeezed.

He closed his eyes for a moment to savor the sensation. She didn't have to say a word and all his anxiety and fears melted away. She was by his side for life. Everything would be all right.

His eyes blinked down and found her clear blue ones. Her simple beauty still managed to leave him at a loss for words, but it was her strength of spirit and innate goodness . . . even after what happened, all the hurt and daily pain . . . that floored John. He never knew man's endless capacity for love until he met her. His Anna.

Her other hand rested naturally on the swell of her belly. She was carrying his child. They had all but given up on the prospect before . . . it happened. And afterwards, it just wasn't a priority. _Time heals all wounds._ No, some wounds never heal completely, but that doesn't mean your body and soul aren't strong enough to keep moving forward, to bring happiness where only darkness lurked, to make new memories to replace horrors. One step, then another. The move, the hotel, the baby . . . slowly, steadily they were reemerging. Not only together, but stronger.

The train creaked to a complete stop and passengers bustled in the aisle.

"Let's go, John," she smiled and hefted her round body out of her seat before he could help her.

He gathered his beat up leather valise and her small overnight case. The rest of their belongings were being shipped later in the week. Thank goodness the hotel was somewhat furnished. No way would he allow her to sleep on the floor seven months pregnant.

He led the way to the exit and hobbled off before her. Placing their bags on the platform, he turned and offered her his hand. This was it. Their new beginning was starting. She stood beside him in silence still holding his hand. No doubt she too understood the magnitude of the moment. There was no turning back.

As they walked from the platform toward the small hotel they now owned, John couldn't help but think back to another time he had got off a train destined for a new start. Only then he had been alone and all but dead inside.

He sneaked a look down at Anna.

What a difference twelve years makes.

_**A/N: I could totally go for the last scene of Downton being John and Anna getting the hell out of there. What happened to that whole 'let's start a hotel" idea? **_


End file.
